Newbury races, Friday, late Novembe

Newbury races, Friday, late November.

Lord White was there. He was standing under the glass white hair, brown coat, dark grey suit. I passed near him but he continued to talk to two other member of the Jockey Club. If he didn't want to talk to me, I didn't mind. Less difficult.

I went out for my first ride. As Harold helped me up, he smiled widely. 'Did you hear that den Relgan is out of the Jockey club?'
I looked at him sharply. 'Are you sure?'
'I'm sure,' Harold said. 'They had an emergency meeting of the Jockey Club in London this morning. He's out.'
'Everyone will be pleased,' I said as I got up on the horse.
I had two races. I finished second, and then fourth. A normal day.
On Saturday I rode Sharpener, who was one of Victor's horses.
'Ride Sharpener to win,' Harold said. 'But don't ride like a madman again.'


Outside the weighing room I saw Elgin Yaxley. What was I going to do about Elgin Yaxley?
Sharpener was the favourite, and he run well and jumped well. We came in first.
A winner for Victor. Harold was very pleased.
I went in and changed and thought about Elgin Yaxley.
In the end I went to my car and picked up the picture of Yaxley. Then I went and found Yaxley.
'Can I talk to you for a moment?'
'You're not going to ride my new horses,' Yaxley said.
'So don't ask.'
'I don't want to ride your horses,' I said.
'What do you want then?'
'I want to give you a message,' I said. 'A private message. From George Millace.'
His face went white and his moustache began to tremble.
'I have a photograph which you ought to see,' I said.
I passed the envelope to him and he looked at the picture. Of Terence O'Tree with himself in the cafe. His hands were trembling and on his face was an expression of fear. his mouth opened, but no words came out.
'The police would like copies of that picture,' I said. Yaxley still could not speak.
'There's another way,' I said. 'George's way.'
Yaxley hated me. I saw it in his eyes. But I wanted to find out what George had done.
'I want the same as George,' I said coldly.


'No!' His voice was full of horror; empty of hope.
'I haven't got it. Not ten.'
I stared at him, and said nothing.
'It hasn't been easy.' he begged. 'Can't you leave me alone? George said only once...and now you! Five, then. Is that all right? That's enough. I haven't got any more.'
I continued to stare, and waited.
'All right, then. Seven and a half.' He was shaking with anger fear. 'That's all... You're worse than George millace!'
He brought out his cheque book and a pen. He wrote a cheque. 'Not Hong Kong,' he said wildy. 'I don't like it there.
I stared again. Suddenly, I understood. 'Oh... Anywhere. Anywhere out of Britain.' I took the cheque and he turned and walked away.
I was going to destroy the cheque. But when I looked at that cheque, a bright exploded in my head-a light of excitement and understanding. I had used George's picture and his letter. I had uesd his cruelty, his 'other idea'.
Now I had it. All of it. Elgin Yaxley was going ti leave Britain and I held his cheque for seven thousand five hundred pounds.
The cheque was made out not to me, but to the Injured Jockeys Fund.